


Make it stop

by wwddd



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Other, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-02
Updated: 2014-08-02
Packaged: 2018-02-11 12:20:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 14
Words: 20,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2067963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wwddd/pseuds/wwddd
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You're stumbling through London, eyes filled with tears as you see a tall man in coat and scarf standing infront of you who changes everything (Mentions of self-harm)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Cool autumn wind blows through your hair and dries the hot tears on your pale cheeks. You struggle with walking straight, your feet feel like giving up. Hands are formed in fists pressed against the sides of your body, so no one can see you shaking.  
Your heart feels wrong and hollow whilst eyes are rimmed red. As you walk down the crowded streets, you pull the rough fabric of your gray jacket closer, your body slowly cools down, since you've been stumbling around the city for hours trying to get everything out of your mind, which feels like exploding. However it doesn't work, it never does.  
Hot and heavy tears keep running down your cheeks, when you first started crying you bothered wiping them away but now you just let them fall, you just don't care anymore.  
Your sight gets blurred and your movements get heavier with every step you take. The shaking is overwhelming and your breath comes hard and fast.  
Your knees give in as you fall down on the freezing cold street. The coolness of the ground creeps through your dark jeans and up your body right into the heart, which already feels way to cold.  
You don't have enough strength to stand up again, so you just crawl to the nearest protect. You curl yourself against a fence with feet pulled to your aching chest. Your knees feel like burning from the fall, just seconds ago, but you don't care.  
The air around you starts getting colder, but you don't seem to notice, but to be honest you wouldn't even care dying right now, curled up against a fence in the north of London. The tears eventually quit falling, but your heart's still suffering and it beats heavy and loud against your chest. You start to observe your surroundings, it's too dark to see much but about ten feet away from you there is a rather old door with 221B written on it. 

Your fingers are shaking as you see light switching on behind the wooden door. You want to stand up as soon as you heard two men talking and their footsteps coming near the door, but you don't. You just keep sitting in front of their door against the fence. You put your arms around your feet and press them closer to your chest when the door finally opens.  
“John, that's ridiculous!” one of them says somehow bored.  
“No, Sherlock, listen...” the one whose name must be John starts saying, but he got interrupted as he saw you. The small man looks at you with confusion first, but then rushes forward to kneel right next to you. “Are you alright? What happened? Are you hurt?” the man next to you with wide opened eyes asks worried.  
Before you can even think of an answer two strong arms lift you up from the ground and hold your hips until the blond and smaller one's sure you don't fall back down again. “Thanks” you whisper, your voice sounds strange and rough from all the crying. Now the taller one, the one named Sherlock, comes closer to take a look at you. You look at him curiously, he is wearing a long coat and a dark blue scarf around his neck. You quickly sink your eyes to the ground, as he keeps staring at you with unbelievably blue-ish eyes.  
John quickly exchanges looks with Sherlock, who is too occupied looking at the girl standing in front of him, with ripped jeans and treads of tears on her face. He can't quite tell what it was about the black haired girl, but it seems like she needs help and even if he isn't exactly the type of helping stranger, he wants to help her though.  
“You must me freezing, wanna come in for a tea?” John asks, slightly shocked of Sherlock's well-behavior. You shyly nod and they guide you through the door.  
You can hear someone hurrying around in a kitchen in the first floor, but John and Sherlock don't seem to bother so you just follow John up the stairs into their shared apartment.  
To say it politely the apartment is a mess, but it feels homely and comfy, well beside the skull on the fire place, which is kind of creepy. You smile to yourself as you look up to John and Sherlock who already sit in their chairs waiting for someone to bring them the tea instead of making it on their own.

You stand awkwardly in the corner of the room looking around until you realize that Sherlock is watching you curiously you smile back politely and take your jacket off after John mentions to make yourself comfy. You peel the jacket carefully off and throw it on a dark leather couch and sit down after straightening your black hoodie. Seconds after you sat down an elderly woman, in her hands a tablet with porcelain cups and a tea pot on it, enters the dusty room. She warmly smiles at you and greets, “Hello, sweetie”  
“Hi”, you mumble shyly with a tiny smile on your lips as you shuffle uncomfortable in your seat. You thankfully take the hot cup with a delicious smelling tea in it, she offers you. You murmur your thanks and take a sip.  
The heat from the fireplace slowly warms you up, so you can finally feel your toes again.  
The women, you figured out here name is Ms. Hudson, leaver immediately after you finished your tea, and lets you alone with John and the still staring Sherlock.  
“What's your name?”, Sherlock asks eventually after what feels like an hour, but only could have been minutes, of uncomfortable silence.  
“It's Abby... my name's Abby”, you stutter, and the so well-known self hatred creeps back into your mind, insulting you heavily. Your body stiffens and the voices in your head keep screaming at you deafening. You little bitch, even too dump to say her own name without fucking stuttering! What the hell is wrong with you? The voices keep shouting those words at you. You feel like breaking down, but you put every strength and will-power you have left into not crying or breaking down in front of two strangers in their apartment. Your fists press the fabric of the couch.  
“What the...”, John exclaims and runs from his chair, in front of Sherlock, over to you. He grips your shaking shoulders and presses you deeper into the familiar sofa. “Abby, look at me! C'mon Abby look me in the eyes!”, the smaller man screams, but you can't hear it anymore. You only can see him hurrying professional above you, soon your sight gets blurred and slowly everything turned pitch black. You fall into sweet nothingness.


	2. Chapter 2

Warm orange light finds it way through the thick layers of curtains, hanging loosely in front the windows. As you open your eyes, you blink a few times until your eyes get used to the light in the wide room. Slowly you start remembering what had happened the night before. You are currently lying in an unfamiliar but still very comfy double bed. You cuddle yourself deeper into the white, soft bedsheets and just enjoy not getting screamed or yelled at. You barely hear a thing, here and then whispered words or birds chirping right outside the window to your left. You can hear the clenching of tea cups and muttered swears from downstairs.  
You remove the blankets from your shoulder, so you can sit with your back against the bed, but with half of your body still under the covers. You start worrying what John and Sherlock might do to you when the realize you're awake. The first and probably most reasonable thought that comes in your mind is that they will definitely throw you out and never ever think about you again. You feel fear creeping into you, you don't want to go. You don't have anywhere else to go.  
Tears fill your eyes, but they don't fall. With a slightly blurred sight you look around the room only to find lots of creepy stuff. On the nightstand next to the bed, you spent your night in, is a jar with an eye swimming in a white liquid. You aren't afraid that the actual owner of the room is a psychopath, you just smile at nothing in particular and feel like home.   
A hesitant sound comes from the door. You sit up straight and wait until someone enters the room.  
A bunch of dark curly hair peeks through the door. Beautiful colored eyes look at you with a shade of worry. “Morning”, Sherlock greets politely and walks fully into the bedroom.   
“Hey”, you smile while saying it, proud to say at least something without starting to sweat and turning bright red.   
“John said you should be alright by today... so, how do you feel?”, he explained with a hesitant smile on his perfect formed lips.   
“I'm perfectly fine. Thank you for, you know... everything!”, you say truthfully. You frown and wonder how you were able to form a proper answer.  
“What? Why are you looking so worried. Something wrong?” Sherlock steps closer as he asks, but you just shake your head. “ No, it's just I usually get all... I mean, when I talk to people I can't make head work properly, my brain literally turns into pudding. I don't understand why I talk so easily with you.”

You shyly look back up into his eyes, in which you get lost for a second. Sherlock frowns while listening to your words carefully but then a soft smile spread across his face and reached his eyes.  
“I honestly must say that I don't know either. I finally get how John feels most of the time”, Sherlock answers. You try to hide your amusement but you fail and start chuckling with hands in front of your mouth. Sherlock winks at you and walks out the room, but leaves the door open. A silent invitation to follow him. You nearly fall out of bed, because you feet got entangled with the bed sheets. You have a hard time trying not to fall face forward onto the wooden floor. You eventually manage to get out of the comfy bed without tumbling to the floor and quickly follow Sherlock out of the room, which was probably his. “So...what is it about the eye in the jar?” you ask consciously while you walk out the floor and into the light flooded corridor. You hurry into the living room where Sherlock lets himself crash on the couch, in which you sat last evening. He lies outstretched on his back, with on hand under his head. Sherlock looks at the ceiling and asks you ”Do you like it?”   
“Well, it's kinda creepy. But it's quite cool I guess... You're not gonna tell me where you got it from, will you?” you add the second part slightly disappointed.  
“Nope” he tells you calmly.  
“What a pity” you mumble more to yourself than you ask loud “Where's your boyfriend?”  
“John Watson is not my boyfriend!” he informs you, sounding like he has to say that quite often.  
You raise an eyebrow at him, and Sherlock just rolls his eyes, which brings a low chuckle out of you.   
“And John is at work” he adds.  
“He's a doctor, isn't he?” you assume, from how he acted last night.  
“Yup. How do you knew?”  
“Obvious, he stayed calm but firmly as I broke down. John stayed very professional. And as he picked me up from the ground, he smelled like disinfectant only doctors have access to.”  
He just stares at you, suddenly Sherlock elegantly jumps up from the sofa and heads towards you.  
Only a few feet away from you, he stands still takes your tiny hand in his long and skinny one and says:”It is a real pleasure to meet you, Abby”.   
He smiles at you with the most incredible and most gorgeous smile you've ever seen. 

You just stare at Sherlock and nod. “You and John, kinda saved my life so I owe you big.”   
“Breakfast”, he simply asks  
“Yes, I'm starving” a bright smile appears on your face, and you wonder that you are actually hungry. You've stopped eating, more than an small apple and a piece of toast, a few weeks ago and never felt the urge to eat more, until now. You're lips from into an even wider smile and the seldom used muscles in your yaw hurt a little, but in a rather good way.  
You look around the warm room and find your white allstars next to the wooden entering door and put them on. Sherlock slips into his black shoes, opens the door for you and while he jumps down the stairs he puts on his dark coat and the warm and thick looking scarf on.   
Out on the streets he holds his hand out, calling for a cab.   
Sherlock elegantly hops into the waiting car, as soon as I climb in he tells the driver the address.  
The cab made is way through the cold and foggy air in London.   
After the driver stops the car, we hop out onto the street and we head into a nice looking cafe. We sit down on a bench right next to the window, watching the by passing strangers.  
You order yourself a plate of pancakes and a coffee, Sherlock takes only tea. As you get your plate you offer him a pancakes, but he refused to take any, so you just raise an eyebrow and silently finish your first real meal since a very long time.   
Then the both of you start talking about nothing in particular, but you really enjoy having those kind of meaningless conversations, Sherlock seems to do so too. Sherlock Holmes makes you laugh in a way no one ever could. You don't really know what it is, just that sure as hell it ain't love.   
You leave the cafe about an hour later and head back to Sherlock's apartment. You went up into the living room and played chess with him, while Ms. Hudson made you tea. Every one avoiding the most important questions, which are all about you, and if you stay, and if you do so for how long.


	3. Chapter 3

You can almost physically feel the weight of these questions pressing on your small shoulders. You don't show any kind of weakness and keep on playing chess against Sherlock. After you lost more often than you can count, you hear someone coming upstairs and turn your head to face the door. Finally John bursts through the door greeting:”Hi, Sher-” he stops talking the second he sees you. You misinterpret his facial expression as disappointment and quickly look at the wooden floor, you just can't stand people who look at you like that. You feel how you're getting worse again, just one, simply look turns your heart ice cold again. All the good things have to come to an end ,you think to yourself, it was nice while it lasted but now, now you're back in the cruel and tortuous realty.   
“Hello John, how was work?”, interjects Sherlock. You force yourself to breath in deeply, to calm yourself down.  
“Wait...you...do you really want to know”, John asked confused.  
“No, of course not, Idiot”, Sherlock simply informs.   
You can't stop the light chuckle that comes out of your mouth, you quickly old your hands in front of your face. The chuckle earns you a pissed glance from John and a wink from Sherlock.   
“Sorry”, you whisper, eyes fixed at John Watson. “ I'll be gone in a minute...”   
As you stand up and are about the leave the room, full of uncomfortable tension, someone grips your left wrist and holds you back. You twitch nervously as you feel the light pressure on your arm. The one who's holding you back is Sherlock, who immediately jumped from his chair and rushed over to you to keep you from leaving. He looks deeply into your mud brown eyes. At first you look back into his amazing colored eyes, but then the pain, his hand forces on your arm, is back on your mind and you glance down at your wrist.   
Your arm doesn't hurt because his grip is too tight, but because you've cut yourself yesterday, hours before John found you, and it feels like being on fire and getting thrown into ice cold water at the same time, and Sherlock's touch makes it only worse. He slowly takes his long fingers away from your wrist and looks back into your eyes and orders:”No, you will stay here!”   
“But...” you and John protest simultaneously and exchange a quick look.  
“Now both of you shut the fuck up.” Sherlock yells, “John, you may not see it already but you eventually will understand why she has to be here. Just trust me, both of you. Okay?”  
John just nods and smiles apologetically at you. You can understand why he acts like that, everyone would react that way, if a stranger would be hanging around in his home. You look at John and say:” I am really sorry for the trouble I cause you, but believe me I am very thankful for what you and Sherlock have done to me.” than you direct your speech to Sherlock, “I don't need to stay here. This was probably the most beautiful time I've ever had and I want to thank you for it. There is no need for me to stay here any longer”   
“Doesn't matter we want you to stay here.”   
You turn around and look at John who is genuinely smiling, going forward and then takes you into a big hug. You smile against John's shoulder and whisper:”Thank you, John”  
“You're welcome” he whispers back.

You step back from the hug, you and John just shared.   
You stand with your back against Sherlock, and can feel his eyes on your body. You kneel down an pull money out of your chucks, that's the reason why you always wear two pair of socks, to put the notes in between them. John looks down at your slim body, kneeling on the floor and fishing around in your shoes. His forehead frowns as removes his eyes from you to look at a smiling Sherlock. You stand back up, and wave, with a huge grin on your face,the a 20 pound note. The color of the banknote shimmering lightly as the sun shines on it.   
“Hungry?” you simply ask.  
Both of them nod, and put on their jackets while walking downstairs and out the apartment.   
You go into a nice little restaurant called Tierra Brindisa near Northumberland Street. The owner itself comes to take your orders as you take place on a table directly in front of the mirror. The owners name's Angelo, which you figured out when Sherlock and John greeted him. Angelo was wearing typical waiter clothes, a white Shirt and flawless black jeans. He is kinda chubby but seems really nice, Sherlock looks like he trust him, so you simply do the same. It is very strange for you to trust a particular stranger. You've never experienced something like that, since you were little you found out that you can't trust no one, especially not someones opinion, but with Sherlock and John it was different. You just know that you can trust their intuition, you finally feel like you belong somewhere.   
You look up from your menu card, you were holding, smile at John and Sherlock and then order yourself a plate of Spaghetti.   
John took the Ravioli and Sherlock ordered Pizza, you have never seen him eating so much. You have been worried that day earlier because he wasn't eating, but now you're unconcerned because he really seems to enjoy the Pizza.   
You make jokes and have an awesome time, you are pretty sure you haven't laughed so much, since forever. You never even once thought about cutting yourself.


	4. Chapter 4

The three of you return a few hours later, after you paid the bill and the cab driver. You feel home and save when you reenter the heated living room and switch the lights on. John is right behind you, walks over to his chair and lets himself fall lazily in the comfy chair. Sherlock does the same, but in his chair, only a few feet away from John's, with much more energy. His eyes are glowing in a light blue/green, simply indescribable. You just stand there, leaning against the colored wallpaper, and look over to John. His eyes seem heavy and tend to fall down again and again, closing his eyes, but each time John opens them determined each time. You silently start giggling, which earns you a confused look from John, you just shake your head and put your hand unknowingly around your scarred left arm. John, in his gray jumper starts yawing and shifts around uncomfortably in his chair, desperately trying to find a more comfortable pose to sit. Sherlock, with his too tight blue shirt walks out of the room, heading into the bathroom, and leaves you and the doctor alone. John eventually stands up wishes you a good night and goes upstairs into his own room. 

You remove from the wall and sit down at the dark leather couch, with your head leaned against the wall behind you, as Sherlock walks in.   
“Oh, yeah, right. I suppose you... sleep on the sofa?” the tall man asked under yawning.   
“Yeah, that's fine for me, thank you”, you smile at him. 

He looks really adorable with his now more blue-shimmering eyes and the little yawns.   
“Night” you say and lay down on the couch with your back on the rough fabric and he leaves the room. Only to return little later and shows you the pack of blankets and the pillow he's currently holding. “Thank you” you repeat, as he throws them at you. He winks and leaves the room again.

As you switch of the lights you realize how dark the room really is, only lit by streetlamps which light shines through the thick fabric of the curtains.  
Than you remember that at this time all the demons return in you head, they already start torturing you. Just by speaking out the truth. They don't want you here, no one those. They are just polite and don't wanna through a sad little girl out on the street, you really should cut yourself you stupid cunt.   
You remove the warm blankets from your body, stand up and make your way to the bathroom. You rudely search through Sherlock and John's stuff until you find what you were looking for, a razor. You put the familiar object to your left arm, searching for a spot that hasn't already been used. When you finally found the place you want to make the cut, you put the razor on your inner arm and start pressing down on the blade and moving it in a straight line diagonal towards your body. 

You feel the burning sensation and a silent hiss leaves your lips and you quickly put a hand in front your mouth to muffle the noises of pain and relieve. After you're done you clean your cuts put a bandage, you steal from John, around it and walk back to your current sleeping place. A light smile playing around your lips.   
You spend the night turning from one side to another, eventually you fall asleep but only to wake up 30minutes later, sweating and heart racing because of terribly cruel nightmares. At 5 a.m. You decide that you have had enough, and throw the blankets on the floor, you nearly fall down on the ground with your beige sheets. In the very last moment your hands grip the fabric of the sofa, your inner arm presses against the hard leather, and a burning sensation runs through your arm. The sudden contact makes the cuts on your arm, feel like it is on fire, it feels like you have been blood poisoned. You actually bite into the sofa to keep you from screaming out loud in utter pain.   
However your feet smash to the wooden floor with a loud thump.  
“Fuck” you whisper to yourself and desperately hope you didn't wake anyone up.  
You try to stand up, but before you can sit up from your half lying half sitting position, a naked Sherlock comes rushing into the living room. His eyes are wide open in fear, leaving no sign of sleepiness.

“I'm sorry” you say a little louder than before, “I kinda fell outta bed”.  
You are still trying to get up properly, but your feet entangle even more with the blankets, and you fall completely, face forward on the floor. With a deep red face, you look up at Sherlock who's still standing in the door frame, in his birthday suit. You quickly return your face towards the floor and with your hand you search for a pillow. When you finally found one, you throw it in the vague direction Sherlock was standing, and he catches it confidently. He just shrugs his shoulders as he watches you trying to get out of the blankets, with your blushed face. After a while he starts laughing at you, and you feel even more stupid and once more wish to just disappear into sweet nothingness. You look up to him, into his bright eyes and can do nothing else but laugh with him. His laughter sounds a hundred times better than elves playing the harp. The sound is even brighter and clearer in the early morning, when everything is still silent and peaceful. 

He eventually walks back into his room, puts on some black, tight pants and kneels down next to you to help you. He was still giggling, but you didn't mind, because you enjoy hearing him laughing, it makes everything so much better. He shuffles closer to you and helps you to pull away the blankets. Together you work on your feet until your sleeve falls down, and all the cuts, which are not hiding under the bandage, are showing. You only realize what happened, when Sherlock stops his motions and stares emotionless on you wrist. There aren't many he could see, but the ones who are visible are one of the worst and deepest. A fat, dark red line was horizontal over your pulse, a scar from your first suicide attempt nearly a year ago. You quickly pull your sleeve back down, but it was to late, he has already seen everything you wanted so desperately to hide


	5. Chapter 5

Even with your sleeves pulled down, he continues staring at your arm. You fear looking into his eyes, so you keep your head fixed on the ground and try to clean up the mess you made. After you put the pillows next to a pile of blankets on the sofa, Sherlock kneels still on the floor and stares holes in the ground. He looks adorable and kinda scary at the same time, his black hair is a mess of curls, pointing in every direction. His red skinny lips quiver lightly and his usually pale skin color turned even whiter. 

You shyly go to him, sit down next to Sherlock and carefully shuffle closer to him. You feel your cuts burning from to many movements, but you can't bring yourself to care. The only thing you care for is the obviously destroyed man next to you on the cool floor. You wanna say something, but before you manage to open your mouth, Sherlock stands up. He's starting shivering because he's still only wearing boxer, that show him off breathtakingly. You quickly stand up and grab for a blanket, from the pile on the couch, to put it around him. You again close the distance between you and him, as you put a fluffy blanket over his shoulders and try to warm him up. You want to leave him alone again, as he seems not to be in the mood to be around anyone, but when you are about to leave, he grips your arm to keep you from walking away. Sherlock turns you around so you have to face him, you still try to avoid his glare but you just can't stand it and give in by looking into the most beautiful and hurt eyes you've ever seen.

You immediately feel bad for being the reason behind his sadness. Blue oceans of fear and worry look at you, it feels like with his look only, he can see your deepest fears and greatest wishes. A lonely and silent tear falls slowly down his cheeks, leaving only a wet and salty mark behind. He pulls you closer to him and hugs you to his chest. An unfamiliar but very nice feeling reaches your heart. It warms you up from the inside out. You try to remember when the last time was someone hugged you like that, you don't remember. You press yourself closer to his chest and Sherlock tightens his grip around your waist. Your tiny hands clinch to his back and you bury your head in his chest, Sherlock's head resting on top of yours. The two of you just stand there, pressed against each others body, searching for comfort and reassurance, for at least fifteen minutes. 

You slowly pull away and step back, just to look into his clear blue eyes, still shimmering with unshed tears. He smiles at you, a smile that speaks more than a thousand words. The smile shows understanding, comfort and ,not even in the slightest, contempt. You look at him and can't help but smile back, the dimple on your right cheek shows and your brown eyes let a single tear rush down your cheeks. You just stare at each other, what feels like hours, but only could have been seconds as Sherlock opens his mouth to say something:” I am aware of the fact, that you don't want to talk about what you did to yourself, but you have to tell me. I now you think you don't need help, but believe me you do and I'm here to help you”

“ I know that I need help. I know that I am crazy but you can't save me!No one can!” you nearly yell at him, till you remind yourself that John's still sleeping.   
He just stares at you and then nods before he raises his voice, to speak again:”Don't you understand that I just want to help you? Is it so difficult for your small mind to get that I do care for you?”

You just stare at him in disbelieve not sure if you should feel insulted or complimented. You decide for the latter and tears fall down your cheeks as you realize that he actually cares for you, that Sherlock Holmes wants you to be OK.   
Sherlock frowns as he sees you smiling, he fears that he has gone to far by calling you “small minded”, anyway he walks towards you and gently brushes the tears away with his thumbs. You don't back away you just let him take care of you, he cups your face to look into your eyes, you close your eyes and let yourself drown in the feeling of being taken care of.  
“I'm sorry”, you whisper 

“It's alright”, Sherlock says,”everything's going to be alright. Promise!”

For the first time in your life you actually believe those overused words and feel safe. 

Sherlock gently removes his long fingers from your face. I throws a sheepish smile at you and walks towards the couch, where he throws himself on. His head tilted to the colored wall behind him and he closes his eyes. You just stand in the middle of the room and look at him. A slight smile plays around Sherlock's well-formed lips, his long dark eyelashes stand in contrast to the pale skin as he ruffles through his curly hair, trying to make himself look less messier. When he realizes that you don't join him on the couch, he opens his blue eyes and stares with dark and big pupils at you, he removes his fingers from his hair and beckons with his hand on the spot next to him. You hesitate at first, but then you just walk over to him and let yourself fall close next to Sherlock on the sofa. His eyes did not leave you while you walked towards him. As soon as your behind hits the rough fabric, he turns his body towards your general direction to face you, while he talks:” Why?”  
Why, was everything he had said. Why. 

A little word that can change so much, a word than can save you, but is also able to push you over the edge. Your mind starts racing, you can't think of a thing to say. You just stare at your knees, desperately to find your voice and your courage. After minutes of uncomfortable silence you part your lips and every word rushes out your mouth, trying to finally get heard:”I... I hate myself. I really do... and that's what keeps me alive, that's what lets me breath again, that's what shuts the voices in my head even if it's just for a little amount of time. I know you probably don't understand it. Not that you're stupid, for god sake's no! It's just no one really understands it, no one ever did. Each time I told someone they looked at me, with disgust in their eyes. They laughed at me, they never took it seriously. So I too, stopped taking it seriously, and I started cutting deeper and....”

Tears are now streaming down your face, you start sobbing and aren't capable to keep on talking. Sherlock sits next to you, he puts his strong arm around you for comfort, he tries to brush away your tears but you quickly put your face in your hands, so he can't reach you. You don't want to worry him. You don't want to hurt him and you don't want him see you like this. Like the mess you truly are, you have always been good at hiding your feelings, your scars, everything but Sherlock could see right through you, there was no way, of him not finding out everything about you.

First the sobbing stops and then the tears get less, until they vanish as well. Your eyes are rimmed red and your face is still tear stained. Sherlock did not leave you for the whole time he just sat there, listened and tried to comfort you in any way possible.   
Suddenly you here clumsy and heavy footsteps on the floor, they make their way towards the stairs and head downstairs. You quickly look at the huge clock on the wall. It was 6:30am and John had to get up for work.

 

Heavy steps made its way downstairs, they finally reveal a tired John Watson. He rubs his big, sleepy eyes with his hand palm while yawning. “Morning” you say, from your place next to Sherlock on the couch. “Mornin'” John mumbles, obviously still half asleep. John watches Sherlock suspiciously and says:”Wow, you are actually wearing pants under that blanket, I'm impressed” he smirks at you and explains, after he sees the curiosity reflecting in your eyes:”He never wears pants in the morning. Once we were “invited” into the Buckingham Palace and Sherlock was only covered in a white bed sheet. “ Both men start chuckling at the memory, and you just go with it and giggle at the imagination of Sherlock sitting on a fancy sofa only covered by a bed sheet. 

John shuffles into the overfilled kitchen and opens the fridge to search for breakfast. From your place on the sofa you can't see directly into the fridge, but you swear you just saw a head on the middle shelf. Your eyes widen in disbelieve, but before you manage to ask Sherlock about it, John starts swearing:”We are out of literally everything, Sherlock!”  
You shyly look up at John and offer:” I could go buy some bread...or something else, whatever you want...”  
“No, that's not necessary, but thanks” he smiles at you and his eyes lighten up a bit, “Why can't you be more like Abby, Sherlock?”  
“Well, first of all...” Sherlock starts, only to get interrupted by the shorter man:”That was a rhetorical question.”  
“Seriously, I wouldn't mind going. Just tell me what you want” you say and John looks at you and then nods.   
“That would be nice, thanks. I put this list...” he answers searching through a pile of magazines, newspaper and paper sheets, “ah, there it is.” He says as his head pops up again and hands you a tainted paper with food listed on it. “Thanks he says again, as you put on your gray jacket and leave 221B Baker Street.


	6. Chapter 6

You casually walk down the street, around the corner and into a tiny supermarket to get all the supplies John had put on the paper. Trying to find the right pack of Cornflakes, you catch sight of a tall man, dressed in a fancy dark suit and black Italian shoes.  
He watches you with an umbrella in his right hand, your eyes meet for a second and you smile a little and quickly grab a pack of cornflakes, not caring which one it is, and hurry into the next row. 

The tall man with brown, short hair follows you after a small amount of time, and you start getting crept out by that guy. You decide to be breath and take all the courage and walk straight up to him.   
You open your mouth, but he is faster:” Hello, your friends with Sherlock, aren't you?”  
“Ehm... I just met him, like two days ago, but I suppose so, yes” you stutter and curse yourself for showing weakness. “Why?”  
The mysterious guy leans against the umbrella and completely ignores your question.  
“I am, as always, concerned about my arch-enemy. If you would keep me up to date, of what's going on in Sherlock's life, I would of course pay you more than well for that little assignment”

 

You just stare at that strange man in front of you. You raise your eyebrows and ask:”Who the hell are you?”  
He rolls his eyes and explains bored:”That is none of your business. I simply want to know what happens in the Sherlock Holmes life.”  
You stare at your shoes, your mind tries to figure out what to do. Eventually you look back at the annoying man and tell him:”Well, I should at least know the name from the guy I get my money from, shouldn't I?”  
You smirk at him and he smiles back and nods before he answers:”My name's Mycroft. It was a real pleasure to meet you, Abigail Masters.”  
“How do you know my...” you start, but he already had left the row with bath supplies in it.  
You stare blankly at the floor, you need a little time to find the rest of the things on John's list and then quickly pay for it, from the money in your shoes, before running to 221B.

With to heavy bags full of food you knock clumsily with one of your feet at the wooden door. Finally Mrs. Hudson opens the huge door, to let you in, a smile spreads across your face and you mumble your thanks. As fast as you manage, with the bags in your hands, you run up the stairs and shout for Sherlock.  
There is absolutely no sound coming from him, you get somehow worries and hurry up the stairs even faster. You burst through you door, only to see Sherlock lying outstretched on the couch, you slept on the last night. “Damnit, Sherlock! Couldn't you at least answer?” you ask him. He doesn't even looks at you, he just kept starring at the ceiling. The bags in your arms get heavier, so you go into the kitchen and put the roughly on a stained table, next to a microscope. Looking back through the non-existing door, you realize that Sherlock still lies there. It looks like he didn't even noticed you in the first place. You slowly walk towards him while saying:”Sherlock. Sherlock, are you alright?”  
He still doesn't react.

You get closer and closer to him until you can finally see into his eyes which are wearing a fading look. You snap your tiny finger over his eyes and suddenly he pops up from his lying position and look at you wide-eyed. You hop back, your heart stopped beating for a second and it seems like it's trying to get back the seconds it had lost. He stares at you somehow confused until you explain:”God, I thought you were dead. Don't ever do that again!”   
“I was in my mind-palace”, Sherlock says cold.  
“What is a mind...?”you try to ask but he shuts you up with a gesture that clearly tells you that he doesn't wants to talk about it.   
“Alright, whatever. I have to talk to you Sherlock”you tell with a serious look on your face. He simply nods and you start talking:” So, in the supermarket I went, there was this stranger and he told me that you are his arch-enemy or something...”  
“Which one?” Sherlock interrupts lying back on the couch with his hands crossed behind his head.   
You chuckle before you answer:“Ehm.. he said his name's Mycroft, you know him?”  
“Yup, he's my brother” he tells you, staring back at the ceiling.  
Your eyes widen in disbelieve, but then you get that Sherlock is being serious and you continue:”The Christmas dinner must be awful!” you earn a low chuckle Sherlock's and smile to your self:”Anyway he offered me money to give him information about you and your life”  
“What did you say?” he sits up and looks a you with his piercing blue eyes.   
“I.. erm.. I agreed.” you stutter looking at the wooden floor.   
“Oh”, is the only sound coming from Sherlock you glance up at him and see a glimpse of disappointment in his face. You quickly add:”I thought we could all use the extra money” you give him your biggest smile and wink at him. 

Sherlock's forehead shows a frown, only to break out into a huge genuine smile. He jumps up and hugs you, pressing all the air out of your lungs. He finally let go off you, while looking at you, he exclaimed:”We have to get you your clothes, sheets and other stuff people need!”. Trying to catch your breath you answer:” What for? I mean, I'm not gonna sleep on your sofa for the rest of my life, Sherlock”   
“Course, you won't” Sherlock explains, “You'll move into 221A, but now we go visiting your drugged, abusive step dad.”   
Your iris widens in utter disbelieve, as you stare open-mouthed at the one who just spit your secrets like it was nothing.   
“What the...How did you...?” you stutter, standing perplex in the middle of the living room facing the entering door. Sherlock just casually stands there, leaning against the door frame. His collor is put up to show off his incredibly high cheekbones.   
“Ah, c'mon. We have work to do.” he commands hurrying down the stairs. Your feet follow his, but your mind is completely passive. Your feet keep moving, you don't realize you changed your position until Sherlock asks about your home-address and you just absently mutter:”Fleet Street”   
Sherlock repeated louder so the cabbie knew where to drive. The cab slowly made his way through the overcrowded streets in London. That is probably the first time you are happy for too much traffic. Sherlock takes your hand in his and squeezes lightly, only the you feel that you are shaking. Your whole body is trembling, your just seconds away from hitting your teeth together. 

You desperately try to focus on other things than meeting your step father after two nights out. Pictures of him pushing you against the wall and punching you in the face make there way into your mind. Pictures of him being drunk and on some kind of cheap drugs make you shiver and you try pressing you deeper into the cab seat.   
Your skin gets freezing cold, as if your blood was exchanged with ice. The cab stops. Sherlock opens the door, pays the driver and waits for you the get out of the car. Your heart starts beating way to fast, your breath turns harsh and shallow and your whole body shivers, as you get out the cab and see the so familiar street.


	7. Chapter 7

You watch the taxi as it turns around the corner hundred feet away from your current position. Turning around, looking at the old and dirty-brown door, your heart skips a beat. You breath in and out very slowly to make your heart stop thumping against your chest bone. You quickly look at Sherlock, who's rattling with a key.   
“No! You didn't!” you scream, not a single shiver in your voice as you angrily stare at him.  
“Catch”, he simply orders and throws the keys towards you. You could have easily caught them, but you just let them crash loudly on the ground, in the mud of your front yard. The whole tiny garden was filled with waste and pieces of used cigarets.  
The ambiance here didn't match that from the rest of the fancy looking street. The only reason your step-father can afford such high living standards, is that he gets a lot of money from the State for taking care of you, which he obviously doesn't. If he wouldn't have been the only relative that had wanted you, he would probably sleep in a box under a bridge of the Themes or would already be dead. 

The houses around yours look all fancy and tied up, there and than you can hear children laughing and squeaking like piglets. You can even hear people contemplating about the weather. Thick gray clouds hang down deep, everything seemed like it'll rain anytime soon.  
You press yourself deeper into the fabric of the loose fitting jacket, and look over to Sherlock, with his dark coat and blue, thick scarf. You take a step, to where the key fell down, bend your knees and grab it with your tiny, shaking fingers out of the mud.   
Cleaning the key and your hands on your jeans you walk closer to the place, next to the door, where Sherlock is standing, since we arrived. Sherlock looks bored and shifts from one leg to another. 

You give him a death glare and put the key into the lock. Your hands are shaking so heavy you have to retry to put the key correctly into the lock about three times. You get mad at yourself from behaving so childish and anxious. You form your hands into fists and breath in again, to calm yourself down.   
Again you put the key towards the lock. This time you succeed to get the key in properly, with a last glance towards Sherlock, you slowly turn the key around. Before you push open the creaking door you wish that Lazarus is sleeping out his constant hangover or is simply to drugged to notice. Holding your breath you slowly but determined open the door. 

The heavy door opens and reveals a totally destroyed living area. From the place you stand you can get a glimpse of the kitchen. The once clean place has now turned into a battlefield. Beer cans are lying all over the floor. Dirty dishes and pizza boxes with rests of food in it, were along the sink and the working place. An awful stench reaches you and Sherlock. You both put your hands in front your faces, to keep the worst smell from getting into your nose. A heavy sigh escapes your lungs as you take a step into the house. The wooden floor under your feet creaks as you turn around to see Sherlock following you immediately.   
“You really don't have to accompany me. I don't want you to see that...”, the last part turns into a   
whisper and you try to look anywhere else but his eyes. For once you succeed. 

Sherlock smiles, winks and takes another step into the house, while the floor creaks under his fancy black shoes.   
“I want to.”, he says before adding, “and I've already seen worse.”  
Sherlock and you make your way through the waste and bottles of beer, to the staircase. Sherlock is already up the first stair as you silently inform:”Wrong stair. My stuffs in the cellar.” He frowns at you and than whispers a curse, as if he couldn't accept that he has been wrong. You get down the stairs as silent as possible and Sherlock's following you. You finally get to your room.

A cold place with four walls and a few posters on the them, the shelves are nearly empty, only few books on them. The carpenter on the floor is stained and gray. You open a shelf next to a small bed and put your clothes into the suitcase Sherlock has taken out from under your bed. You grab everything you have, which isn't so much, and throw it mindlessly into the case. Than you kneel down next to the entering door, pull the carpet away and tear open the floor. There is a hole, just big enough to hide something in it. You tear out a pack of banknotes and push them atop the clothes and with Sherlock's help you close the black suitcase.   
Sherlock grabs the suitcase and heads up the stairs, you quickly follow him. In the hurry your hand grazes the already broken lamp and it falls down on the floor with a loud thumb. The light bulb smashes into a million tiny little pieces. The noises of the shattering glass echoes through the silent house, which makes them seem even louder. You hastily look up to Sherlock. In your expression lies desperation, fear and self-disappointment. Out of some kind of habit you press your hand over the fresh cuts to make them bleed again. Sherlock notices but doesn't say anything, he just gives you his sad puppy eyes and than stares back up the stairs. The both of you listen carefully if you can hear something, or better someone, moving. But nothing. Relieve shows on your faces and a quick smile gets formed on his lips. Your eyes open widely in fear as you hear someone yelling:”Who the hell is in my house?”

The smell of alcohol and puke starts getting to your head. Fear reflects on your pale turned face, as you hear the prattling voice of your step-father.   
A heavy sigh escapes your light pink lips, as you go up the stairs and walk by Sherlock, who stopped as soon as the lamp hit the ground. He quickly follows up, behind you. You resist the urge to cover your nose, with the fabric of your hoodie, when the smell gets grosser every step you take toward the living area.  
As you approach the open door that leads into the living room, you steal a glance of Sherlock, who's hands ruffle through his dark, thick hair.   
He nods at you reassuringly and you take the last step into the once clean and good smelling room.   
“It's just me, Lazarus”, you manage to get out with a shaky breath.  
“And a friend of Abby's” Sherlock adds confidently.  
You give him your best bitch-face, but he just winks at you. Sherlock gives you comfort and hope.   
You shake your head in complete disbelieve and a smile appears on your lips, only to be wiped away seconds after, when you realize Lazarus standing in the room.   
A rather short and chubby man stands in the other edge of the living area, on the wall next to the still open entering door. His eyes are rimmed red and he seems to release a toxic smell. His hands are formed into fists, ready to fight of any intruder, and his almost bald head wears a deep and angry frown.   
“Aw, the ugly bitch's back”, Lazarus slurs and leans against the wall behind him to search for assistance.   
The voices in your head start screaming at you again. See, everyone hates you. Everyone.  
Before the voices make you numb, Sherlock interrupts your chain of thoughts:”How do you dare call her that? Just shut up you intellectually undemanding dickhead. Just go back into your so called room and jerk off again, or maybe inject the heroin you hide in a case behind the dying plant. You are an alcoholic, worthless bastard and you deserve the life you've got here, for treating Abby like a piece of shit.”

With that Sherlock grabs your hand and pushes you with him out of the front door. Lazarus simply stands there and looks at you in utter disbelieve.  
When you and Sherlock reach the street you can hear Lazarus yelling:”You worthless hoe. Better never come back. Don't need y'anyway”  
Sherlock looks at you with his now blue eyes and you both crack out into laughter, until your tummies and your faces start hurting.

Still chuckling you walk down the street. You persuade Sherlock into going to Baker Street on foot, because you really need some fresh air, you can almost smell the alcohol and puke in your clothes. After a long time of pacing next to each other and occasional bumping into each other sides, you decide to break the hush:”I'm sorry you had to see that”   
Sherlock lips part almost immediately but before he is able to say something, you continue:”Anyway, you are truly brilliant, Sherlock”   
A wide grin appears on his face and reveal the wrinkles around his eyes.  
A comfortable silence gets between you two again as you keep on walking, until the phone in your jacket starts vibrating.  
At first you can't find it, the jacket has way too many pockets. Eventually you get the cheap phone and look at the enlightened screen. Unknown Caller.  
You suspiciously look at Sherlock and then pick up with a curious:” Hello?”  
“Hi... It's me John. John Watson.”

“Oh, hey John. What's up?” relieve mirrors in your face as you hear the doctor.   
Sherlock gives you a confused frown.

“Well, I just wanted to ask you if you would have time in around 20 minutes? I really need to talk to you, and then's my break. So, what do you say?”

“Yeah... Sure, I got time. Where?”

“My workplace, Sherlock gives you the address”

“Alright. See you soon”

“Yes, See you. Bye”

You put your phone back into one of the pockets while wearing a frown.  
“What was that about?” Sherlock asks.

“I have no idea” you answer calmly. “We better grab a cab, I don't wanna be late”

“Yes, of course”

Only a few minutes later you and Sherlock sit next to each other in the cab, either one looking out of the window and observing the city and the people. Sherlock exits the cab at 221B and takes your suitcase with him. Now you are alone in the cab, driving through the streets of London, wondering why the hell John needs to talk to you.


	8. Chapter 8

Bored and nervous you are taping an annoying rhythm on the wooden desk in front of you. You sit on a white plastic chair in the middle of John's office, surrounded by blank walls with posters of human body parts on them. An impatient sigh escapes your lips. Then finally, you can hear someone pulling the door knob. You turn around to look at John, but the only one you see is the blond, short-haired Lady, the secretary. With a caring smile, that makes her green eyes shine, she informs:”Hi, John will be here any minute now. There's just been that emergency. Some guy took a bottle of pils and poured down a few shots vodka. Could have ended badly...” Her eyes turned sad as her voice faded. “Oh”, is everything that escapes your lips as you shyly look back down on the sterile floor.   
“He must have had his reasons”, you say almost not audible. “Yeah” she whispers, and you can feel her looking at you, “By the way, I'm Mary...and you are Abby right? John told me about your arrival” 

You stay silent to ashamed to say anything. Awesome she knows, you think, everyone knows how awkward and crazy I am.   
Short after that John enters the room hastily,”Sorry, for being late”, he exclaims while trying to fix his scrubs. As his eyes meet Mary's, the atmosphere in the room changes everything feels somehow energetic and very strange. The lovebirds keep staring at each other, only as you clear your throat melodramatic, the take their eyes off of each other. You can't help but chuckle lightly as both of them start blushing equally deep red. Mary leaves the doctor's office in a hurry. You still chuckle as John takes his seat on the other side of the desk. 

“Hey, John” you finally manage to get out.  
“Hello”, he says with a shimmer of red still on his face.  
“So”, you begin”About what did you wanna talk?”  
He shuffles uncomfortable in his chair and you raise your eyebrows in furrow.  
“I...the first night you were at ours...” he stumbles nervously.  
“You mean, when I had the breakdown. Right?” you state politely.  
“Yes, exactly. Well, when you got unconscious, I gave you something to calm you down, because you were still shaking...”he professed.  
Your understand that he had to do that, you were in no way pissed or hurt, so you just nod and look prompting at the doctor.  
Slowly he continued talking again:”I had to inject you the liquid...in your veins.. in your arm”  
You stare blankly at him and the voices start screaming at you again.  
You son of a bitch. Everyone knows! He will throw you out, he doesn't want to share his place with a psychopath. A cutter! No one wants to! You should kill yourself, you worthless piece of shit.   
He restarts talking, and the voices get a little more silent,”I have seen your cuts”

You inhale deeply when you hear him saying those words, you feared most in life. They echo in your mind, repeating it over and over again. I have seen your cuts, I have seen your cuts...  
The voices yell deafening at you, and you sink deeper down into the plastic chair you are currently sitting on. You must look like a wet bag of sand, but you can't bring yourself to care.   
Everything inside you screams at top volume, your heart races unsteady, you can hear the blood rushing through your veins. Worst of all you get that feeling in your arm, your fingers, your jaw, in your whole being. The feeling when your fingers start tickling in a unpleasant way, the chills that run down your spine and make you feel even colder. You can sense the excitement in your veins, and the only thing that seems important, right now is to cut yourself so deep that you won't wake up again.  
You want to cut yourself so badly, but with John in front of you, you can't do it. So simply, as a compromise you let your fingers trace along the length of your arm, until you can feel the fresh cuts, under the thick fabric of the your hoodie. You slowly start squeezing it, but it doesn't hurt enough, so you just press harder and tighten the grip around your arm.   
“Stop it. Now!” John orders in a deep voice, grabs your wrist and pushes the finger away from your left arm. Shocked you look up into his blue eyes, only to see fear and worry hidden inside them. “I'm sor-”, you start, trying to apologize for being a huge cunt, but he interrupts you quickly:  
”No, don't” a heavy breath escapes his rosy lips,”Don't do that. You hear me? Don't apologize, there's absolutely no reason for it.” 

You can't bare looking into his truly worried eyes, and sink your eyelids, once again starring at the clean floor, wishing for your heart to stop beating.  
After a minute of silence, he continues, now his voice was steady and hushed:” I don't know why you are doing this to yourself... or what made you do this to yourself”.  
Silence flooded the doctor's office. 

“And ,of course, you don't have to tell me, it's alright”, he adds, but you still don't react,”I just want you to know that I am here for you. If...When you have the urge to cut yourself, please come to me first, and I will try to help you. Just remember that I am here for you, and I assure you that Sherlock will be there too.”  
A shaky breath escapes your mouth, you teeth are pressed against each other, trying,but failing immensely at not crying. Big, hot tears stream down your flushed face.”John, I..”, you start but quickly have to stop talking because you start sobbing uncontrollably. You hide your face with your hands, until John pulls them away and forces you to look into his, from tears sparkling, blue eyes. You look at him with red rimmed eyes and wet cheeks. A look of utter gratefulness plastered on your face. “Why are you so nice to me?”, you finally get out of your mouth. John looks at you and a smile appears on his lips, he starts chuckling lightly, after he calmed down a bit he replied:”Because you are a fantastic human being and you deserve to be treated nice, like anybody else does. You deserve to be taken care of. You deserve to be loved” 

With that you break down completely and the tears rush down your cheeks like in a waterfall. You let yourself fall out the chair, and sit on your knees, with the palms against your face and John kneeling next to you. He slowly, so you don't get frightened, puts his arm around your back and pulls you into a hug.   
You sit like this, clinging to the doctor, like a five year old who re-found his mum.   
He just holds you close and says absolutely nothing.

John Watson patiently waits til you get yourself under control again. You let him go, stand up and take him with you.   
“Thank you, John. I never thought that anyone would actually care about me...”, your voice breaks but you can hold the tears back and continue,” You and Sherlock, you are the best things in my life and I only know you for two days. So thank you for being here, and putting up with my shit”   
A half smile spreads across your face and John smiles back and takes you into a short hug as he whispers:”Your welcome.”  
Deep down a voice in the corner of your head tells you:”John's wrong. You don't deserve to be loved, or taken care of, or any affection at all. You are a stupid, fat cutter who deserves to struggle for a whole life long. Because you are even too worthless to kill yourself.”

 

Mary enters the room and with a blush on her face, she informs John that his break is over, and that he is needed. You give him a quick hug, feeling his warm body softly pressed against yours, and then leave the building.  
Out the door, you take a deep breath of relieve, while trying to shut down the voice. You close your eyes, and feel the cold breeze over your eyelids. The wind blows your already messy hair into your face, and you wipe the strands away annoyed. With a shrug of your shoulder you decide to walk back home. You smile as you realize that you already refer to 221B Baker Street as your home.


	9. Chapter 9

You really enjoy the walk to your new home, but are glad when Baker Street comes in sight. A light smile flits over your lips as you start hurrying towards the dark entrance. A quick knock, few seconds later, and a smiling Mrs. Hudson stands in front of you and lets you in the small house. “Thanks, Mrs. Hudson” you say and run up the staircase to step into Sherlock's apartment. She just looks at you with a grin plastered on her face and shakes her head lightly which make Mrs. Hudson's hair sway a little. 

“Sherl-” you start, but quickly get interrupted as you see the tall man sitting on the couch with his palms pressed against each other and pressed under his chin. His eyes move from on side to the other as if he would watch a fly, whirring around him. Your forehead frowns as you look at him in utter confusion. After a long fighting with your mind, you decide that it doesn't look as if Sherlock was in real danger. So you just sit across from him and stare a while at the man with the too tight black shirt. You easily get bored and stand up, to walk around the flat. As you see your suitcase you go over to it and open it. The pile of bank notes is the first thing you get to see, quickly you push them deeper down and grab pants, bra, blue jeans and a black t-shirt, with a white gun on it. Heading to the bathroom, to take a shower, you shoot a glance at Sherlock who is still sitting concentrated on the sofa and staring at something only he can see. 

While you are drying your long, dark hair after the shower you just took, you can hear John's heavy steps coming up the stairs. You hurry up, fiddle with your clothes and than leave the steamy bathroom with the open window.   
“Hey, John” you greet with a soft smile, as you see the doctor standing in the kitchen.

He simply nods at you, while leaning at the wooden table, full of Sherlock's experiments. He chews on the cookie he had put in his mouth before you entered the room. With a gesture towards the plate with Mrs. Hudson's cookies on it, he offers them to you. First you actually think about eating one of the delicious chocolate crisp cookies, but then your mind reminds you of how fat you are and you shake your head and add:”No, thanks”

You turn away from John Watson and take a deep breath and count to 10, you once read somewhere that it is supposed to calm you don't, but it didn't really work.   
While facing the living room, you realize that Sherlock's still sitting there, in the exact same position as you left him to take a shower. Your eyebrows raise as he starts fumbling with his hands in the air. You back away a step, and return your round eyes to John, who's currently eating his 5th cookie, and not noticing your confused look.   
As you clear your voice, he looks over to you with a questioning look on his face. “What?”, he asks with his small hand in front of his mouth to not spit any cookie crumbs. You point with your head towards the strange-behaving Sherlock Holmes. 

“Oh, that...” John begins and chuckles lightly, which only make you raise your dark eyebrows even more. “He....Sherlock is in his mind-palace.”  
“You gonna tell me what that is, or?” you wonder after a short pause of silence .   
“Yes. The mind-palace is a place, where Sherlock keeps his thoughts and knowledge. So when he has a case or something, he can easily enter that imaginary room and review all the information. It's like a huge book, that you can read and where you can search for something you oversaw the first time”  
“Oh” , you just exclaim, before John can say anything else Sherlock jumps up from the leather couch and looks at both of you.   
“Good, you're both here” Sherlock states, “We got a case”

And with that the tall men took his scarf and coat and ran down the stairs. John followed him without even asking. You just keep standing there in the kitchen and look at the place where you got the last glance of the two men disappearing. 

You turn around and head to the couch, trying to figure out what the bloody hell had just happened. You are so fixed on your thoughts, that you don't hear someone coming up the stairs. Sherlock pops his head through the entrance door and looks at you wide eyed. “You coming?” he asks, with a wide grin on his Greek-godish face.   
“Sure”you answer without hesitation, you stop worrying what that behavior is all about, and just follow him downstairs. Out the door you see a cab standing on the street. A familiar hand waves from inside the cab and you quickly walk to the excited John who's hand waved you to the taxi.  
Sherlock is right behind you, he tells the cabbie the address, and the car starts moving.


	10. Chapter 10

“So”, you state, sitting between John and Sherlock in the seat of the cab. “What do you exactly mean with “case”?” you went on. You first look at Sherlock, who just smiles into nothingness, and then turns his head around to look at Watson. They both exchange an amused look, until Sherlock finally faces you with a wide, teethe grin plastered on his pretty face. 

“A case!” he just exclaims excited.  
You've never seen him like that, he usually was serious and brooding over something. His good mood was catching and you couldn't help but smile at Sherlock with his cheeks flushed in a light pink, from the excitement. When you manage to take your look from Sherlock, who's looking out the window, not bothering with a proper answer of your question, you glance at John. Even his mood seems lighten up, you raise your eyebrow at him until he eventually starts explaining:”Well, a real case. Like murder.” as your eyes widened in disbelieve he quickly adds,” If the police doesn't know what to do th-”   
“Which is nearly always”,Sherlock interrupts, and a light chuckle escapes your mouth.   
“Anyway”, John starts over,”They call us. The reason he's so annoyingly excited is 'cause he hadn't had a proper case in a while. Sherlock, are you going to tell us about the case or do we have to wait till we get there?”

After a few seconds of silence Sherlock looks away from the streets and the buildings, outside the cab's windows. “Alright. In the last five days nine middle-aged people went missing, in the exact same spot. The police found the murderer, the found blood but they can't find the corpses. According to them, they disappeared . The murderer, Brooks, won't tell them where he hid them. The cops have been searching for the body for three days.”  
“So basically, where going on a corpse hunt?” you ask sceptically.  
“Yes” express the men simultaneously.  
The cab stops in the middle of nowhere, a frown appears on your face and chills run down your spine, as you jump out the cab. 

Out of the cab, you stop and stare.  
You are outside of London, the dominating colours are green and brown and the soft sunlight that shines through the leaves, is about to disappear any moment now. There are nearly no cars, no smoke, no sign of modern lifeforms at all. You watch the cab as it leaves the empty side road. A deep sigh escapes your mouth as you find yourself next to a wood. Only a little road, out of white gravel, shows that people actually live here.   
Everything was darkened, the shadows of the huge oak trees made the days seem even shorter. It didn't take long, for the golden sun to vanish behind a hill full of firs. You look away from your ambiance as you realize that John and Sherlock didn't take a minute to appreciate their surroundings. You catch a last glance of Sherlock's dark coat as he and John, next to each other, turn around a dark corner. “Fuck”, you whisper and hurry after them. Running across the little street you stumble over a few tree branches but always manage not to fall on the ground. You stop for a moment to catch your breath after you nearly ran against a birch. The darkness surrounds you like a blanket as you try to catch up with the men. 

Eventually you can see them both standing at the end of the tiny road, talking to a gray haired man. The third man, was around Sherlock's height, he was skinny and muscles formed around his arms. He was talking to Sherlock excitedly and gesturing with his hands and now and then combing with his fingers through his short hair. Relieve washes over your body, as you walk out the wood, toward the end of the street, which ended on the parking lot of a big wooden cottage. While casually walking closer to John and Sherlock you observe the parking lot. Three police cars stood in the very middle of the place, no one cared if the parked their car in the garden of the house owner. Also the two gray cars with flashlights on top of their car's ceiling, are placed disregardful.   
Shaking your head about who ignorant people can be you step next to John Watson. “Hey” you greet, still a little out of breath. You swallow hard before you dare to look at the other man's face, who stares at you in confusion. “My name's Abigail Masters”, you offer politely. Your heart bumping hard against your chest and your hands sweating, as you stretch out your small hand for him to shake it. But that never happened. He just shakes his head and you slowly pull away your arm and form your hands into a fist, pressing so hard it starts hurting. You enjoy the hurt in your arm, it's something you can control, not like the pain in your chest which is unbearable and makes you go numb.   
The gray haired man raises his eyebrows and speaks to Sherlock:”What's she doing here?” Sherlock who looks perplex and squints his eyes simply says:”Friend of ours, Lestrade”   
“You can't keep bringing your friends to a bloody crime scene!” he yells, but quickly calms down as he catches peeks from the police man and women around him.   
“You haven't found corpses nor evidence. This ain't a crime scene, do your research, Graham”   
“Dammit, Sherlock. It's Greg!” he says pissed and turns around leaving. 

You shyly look through your eyelashes up to Sherlock. He stares down at you and winks, showing the tiny wrinkles around his eyes. You can't help but smile back at him, and then look at John who started chuckling uncontrollably. Soon all three of you fell into genuine laughs. You watch Lestrade when he gestures wildly while talking to a black women with curly brown hair. She answers equally pissed, and a skinny man with relatively long brown hair joins them. You raise your eyebrows, and glance over at Sherlock, who was already looking at you, trying to read you. You put on a fake smile, so he won't worry. 

After you walked behind the house into a big yard, with beautiful green mow on it, Sherlock's starts babbling fast, like really fast. He talked faster than one of those French high-speed trains. “ Nine people went missing, the murderer confessed he killed all of them. He told the police how he killed them, why he killed them and where he killed them. But no word about where he buried them. Why would someone do that?” 

You blinked repeatedly as you starred open-mouthed at Sherlock, you've never seen him like that, it was mind blowing. He continued,”Not making sense. He didn't burn them...”  
“How do you know?”you interrupt.  
Confused he shakes his head and looks at you,”Obvious.”he stated without a further explanation.  
“Ehm, alright then” you mumble, and look down on the floor the whole time Sherlock was mumbling all the facts about the victims and the murderer.   
Suddenly you hear a women screaming something you don't quit understand. Everybody started moving towards the black women, who earlier talked with Lestrade. She was the one who yelled. When you are near enough to actually hear what's going on you figure out that one of the police dogs found something and now they are digging for it. A excited spark lay in the air, everyone got nervous and started shifting from one foot to the other as two muscular men dug deeper. Suddenly they could see a small figure on the ground, everyone is holding their breath, the tow men look at each other and kneel down to dig further, with their in gloves covered hands. A disappointed groan runs through the crowd when they figure out, that the small figure was just a dog, that got buried there. 

The crowd slowly moved away but you just kept standing there looking down at the hole. Finally everyone was gone, Sherlock and John stood 20 feet away from you and talked to each other, mainly Sherlock talked, the doctor only listened. You move forward, closer to the hole in the ground. Squinting your eyes you kneel down, your knees touching the mud. Carefully you take out the dog's remains, and place them next to you. After that you put one of the plastic covers over the skeleton to keep the smell from making you vomit.   
You grab after the scoop, next to the hole. You start digging deeper. Only Sherlock sees you, and walks over to you with hesitation. “What are you doing?” he asks with a raised eyebrow.   
“Digging” you return with sarcasm.

He just gives you a bitch face and you add:”Well, I once read this thing on tumblr. It was a masterpost about how to kill people without getting in charge for it, or something. There stood that you should bury your victim six feet under a dead dog. So if the police dog smells the corpse, the policemen will only find the dead dog instead of the body that's lying underneath.”

He stays silent for a moment, just stares at you. The same did John, you started getting uncomfortable and quickly add:”It's worth a shot”  
“You are brilliant!” Sherlock stated a fat grin plastered on his handsome face. He turns around himself and hugs you close to his chest, before placing a kiss on your cheek. With wide eyes you stare at him. He picks up the other scoops and hands one to John, before helping you digging. After half an hour, Sherlock jumps out the hole and smiles. He helps you and John out of the hole and waves Lestrade to you. He arrives with his eyes rolling in annoyance. “Abby found them” John states calmly and turns around to leave. You wipe your hands on your jeans and follow Sherlock and John back the street where you came from. Once you looked back at Lestrade who stood there, with his mouth opening and closing like a fish. You smiled and winked at him, before hurrying after John and Sherlock.


	11. Chapter 11

While Sherlock is calling the cab, the three of you walk along the already dark path. A proud smile is spread across Sherlock's face. It is around midnight and you still feel insecure, your heart's beating fast which causes your awful sweating. You try to close your eyes and breath in deep (which one's again didn't work). Eventually the cab turns around the corner and stops in front of you. You get in first and Sherlock and John after you.  
The warm car heats you up immediately, you hadn't realized your were cold until you could feel the warm air against your freezing face. Sleepily you lay your head against the passenger window and look outside. Your knee is in touch with Sherlock's and you could feel the temperature radiating from his body. You slowly calm down, as your eyelids fall deeper and deeper. Until it is nearly unmanageable to keep them open any longer. Sherlock sees your struggle, gives you a caring smile, and whispers into your ear:”Just go to sleep. I'll wake you when were home.”   
“Mhm” you silently mumble your content as his hot breath disappears around your earlobe.  
He and John chuckle lightly. You fall asleep with the sounds of John and Sherlock arguing. 

You find yourself standing in the middle of a bunch of rocks. In front of you flows a huge river, which reflects the shining from the stars and the nearly full moon, in the sky. A cold wind messes up your hair and blows them sharply into your face. Annoyed you swipe the hair out of your mouth and sight, you realize that you are standing completely alone in the middle of a goddamned wood. Around you are all kind of rocks and stones, next to you, huge trees are planted. You pull your sleeve down as the wind continues to blow freezing cold. You're only wearing a worn-out gray long-sleeved pullover, and the dark jeans. While you nervously shift from one foot to the other you feel something hard and unpleasant in the back pockets of your dark denims. Nervously you put your right arm on the pocket and feel the long and smooth form of the object. Slowly but determined you push your fingers into your jeans and feel the wooden thicker part.

Sliding your fingers further downwards you sense cold metal against the tips of your fingers. Hesitantly you pull the object out of your back pocket, to feel it properly. Forming your hand into a fist hides the metal part of the object. You breath in again, and it really worked. Your heartbeat slowed down and your breath normalized. With a steady breathing you open the palm and show off the blade in your hand. A unwilling smile spreads across your face, as you realize what you are supposed to do.   
This time, your fingers aren't shaking. You are very relaxed and calm. You took another step towards the dark, charming-looking river. Only one step away from what you desire the most. Only on step, and everything will be fine. 

You slowly put your arm tight around the grip of the blade, and inhale deeply.   
Determined you press your blade into your wrist and cut it deeper than the first time you did it. This time you know better. As the blood flows steadily out of your wrist over the tips of the fingers, down to the ground. The blood turns the light gray stones pitch black. Your Hands exchange the knife and do the same on the other side. You don't feel any pain. The first time you tried to kill yourself it hurt like hell, you could literally feel every drop of blood running down your arm into the sheets of your bed. You actually screamed the other time, not tonight though. 

With a last tiny step you stepped over the river. You are well aware that this is going to be the last step you'll ever take. You silently hear someone screaming your name, but you don't care. All you care for is the fall, and the blood on your jeans. Jumping is easy, you feel light, you feel good, happy. Another smile across your lips before you prepare yourself to hit the ice-cold water of the dark river. But that release never came. 

 

Warm and steady hands are wrapped tightly around your upper shoulder. Your eyes jump open and show your widened pupils. You stare directly into sky-blue eyes, filled with worry and fear. The room only enlightened through a single lamp on the ceiling. The orange light doesn't burn your eyes, but you're still blinking fast. The blue eyes are surrounded by dark lashes and brown eyebrows. A stubborn curl had fallen in the blue lake, and gets swiped away quickly, with long, skinny fingers. You try to sit up and the hands press you back down into an unfamiliar bed. You eventually give in and lie back down, trying to figure out what had happened. Now his whole face is in front of you, his tiny wrinkles around the eyes, the curls, which are an utter mess, and his rosy lips, that are pressed against each other firmly.   
Your shivering hands reach to get a tight hold onto the underside of Sherlock's arm. 

Huge, wet drops fall down your pale cheeks, run down the length of your neck and die in the t-shirt you are wearing under the hoodie. John must have taken it off of you, when he carried you inside the house. As you realize what it means, being in a shirt with short sleeves, you glance down at your arms. Gradually you can only see shadows and the vague forms of the scars on your body. You quickly let go of Sherlock's arm and try to hide your wrists under the beige bed sheet. Only now you notice that you're in a completely different room. There is a French bed and a single window. The walls are painted equally as the ones in Sherlock's apartment, next to the entering door there was a darker spot in the corner. Before you menage to ask your whereabouts, Sherlock who's sitting next to you on the bed whispers:” 221a”.

You shoot him a confused look, he roles his eyes and ads:”Where in 221a Baker Street, same house, different room”  
“Oh” is everything that comes out of your too dry mouth. The very moment you thought about being thirsty, Sherlock hands you a glass of water. You manage to sit up, with his help and drink the glass at once. “Thanks” you whisper, your voice still rough and filled with sleep. You notice the cold sweat that covers your whole body. The air in the room isn't that warm, after all it's November and the heaters aren't running during the night. The chilly air cools your body down immediately, and you feel yourself shiver in the darkened room. With long fingers, Sherlock pushes you down under the covers. Without any kind of protest your let yourself bury deeper into the blankets. You lie calmly in your bed and watch Sherlock who's searching through the cupboard left to the bed. A grin is plastered on his face, as he turns towards you. Without looking again, he grabs a thick quilt and plants it above you carefully. As he turns to leave, you warn but your voice breaks at the end of the sentence:”You don't really think I can fall back asleep, do you?”   
He simply shakes his head, no. You shakily sit up on your bed, wrap yourself up in blankets, leaving one for Sherlock, as you pet the spot next to you. 

Hesitantly, Sherlock makes his way towards your new bed. You crawled back, 'til you could lie your head against the cold wall. Sherlock sits with his legs crossed, and a blanket around his shoulders, in the middle of the bed, facing you.   
“How does it come, you're here?”, you ask, your voice still oozing with sleep.  
“When we came here, about - “ he looks at the clock on your nightstand,” three hours ago. You fell asleep in the cab. John didn't want to wake you, so he carried you in here.”   
Sherlock takes another deep breath and continues his story:”Both, John and I, went into our apartment. I couldn't sleep. Started walking around the kitchen and was about to pick up the violin, then I saw your suitcase on the floor and thought why not.”

He chanced a glance at you before explaining:” I came down here. After I was putting down the case, you started moving in your bed. First I thought you had one of those dreams...” he faded before continuing after a short uncomfortable silence, that made you cuddle deeper into the blankets ”Well, clearly it was a nightmare. So I woke you up.” He looks up at you and smiled shyly.  
“Does that happen often?” you ask worried.  
“What?” Sherlock demands with a frowning forehead.   
“You not being able to sleep” you bring forth.  
Clearly taken aback, by your question he confesses :” Sometimes... Doesn't matter anyway.” A fake smile flashes upon his features.   
“Course it matters” you exclaim, the anger obvious in your voice. “Sherlock, from what I saw today, you are a fucking genius. And it matters if you get enough sleep. Do you bloody hear me?”

A low chuckle slips out of his parted lips.   
“Seriously Sherlock, I'm not joking” you grunt angrily.  
Sherlock tries to keep the laughter in, but fails miserably. After he caught a few bitch-faces of yours he leans closer to you and hugs you amicably.   
“I hate you” you mumble against his chest. Sherlock answers with another incredible deep chuckle.   
“You don't have to worry about me, Abby. I have John for that”  
Now it was your turn to smile brightly up at Sherlock. 

He moved back from your hug and looked you deep into the eyes before he suggests:”What were you dreaming about?”  
Without hesitation you admit ”Killing myself”  
Surprisingly, Sherlock wasn't surprised at all, which made you squint your eyes and watch him closer.   
“You don't look surprised” you finally state.  
“From the way you were moving, the cold sweat, the tears as you woke up. I just assumed it has to be something in that area.” he said serious.  
“How do you always know that stuff?”, you shyly reply.  
“It's my job...”

After you shot him a glance of confusion Sherlock explains:”I am the worlds only consulting detective.”  
“How is that?” a soft smile audible in your voice.  
“I invented the job”. Your eyebrows raise and the continues,”I help the police solve murders. They call me when they are too stupid to solve the case on their own.”   
“Impressive” you whisper, and it gets you a proud smile from Sherlock.   
“Back to the dream. Do you want to kill yourself?” Sherlock asks, the weight of the question clear in his voice.  
Your eyes fall down on the bed sheets. With your now sweat-free hands you grab the blankets tighter around you and shift uncomfortable to the other side. You couldn't bare to look at the man in front you with his beautiful eyes. Everything inside you screamed. You wanted to tell him the truth, but didn't want to scare him away. You once told your (now ex-) friend about your suicidal thoughts. You'll never forget the look of sheer disgust and incomprehension on her arrogant face. After that you've never talked to here again, she spread the rumor in your whole school. Because of that people started bullying you. Because of that you started cutting yourself.   
You eyes got watery as you thought back to that memories.   
You shake your head to stop thinking about it. A simple look into Sherlock blue eyes and you know you could trust him with your life. You take a deep breath and finally answer after several minutes of silence. “Yes, I want to kill myself.”

 

A deafening silence fills the dimmed room.   
“I'm sorry. I shouldn't have told you that...” you state, with a strong and clear voice. Your face gets hard and your whole being is without any hint of insecurity.  
“Ah, stop it!” Sherlock yells, he jumps up from the bed, which makes you bounce a little. He hurries towards the window and stares outside with his palms pressed together firmly. The man watches an owl flying over London's roof tops. His tired eyes follow the owl until it disappears in to the horizon. Sherlock runs his fingers through his messy dark hair, and sighs heavily, you sit up straighter on your bed, and form your lips into a straight, hard line. 

You want to be strong, you're just so done with crying in front of everybody. You have enough of feeling weak, helpless, like a moody baby.   
Heated air on your cheeks pulls you out of your thoughts, you look up and realize Sherlock's standing in your personal space, watching you closely. Normally you would push people away, without a second glance, but with Sherlock it was different. He slowly cups your cheeks and forces you to look into his sparkling green eyes.   
“Stop lying to me. You are not good at it. You get way to tense...” he smiled a little at the end of the sentence.   
With that your facade breaks. The fake self-consciousness washes away like cheap make-up. Leaving no trace behind of ever being there. A tiny smile reaches your lips as you see Sherlock still smiling at you. His hands still firm against your chin. 

“I still don't understand why you are being so nice to me. You, John, Mrs. Hudson . I don't know. I've never met kind people, and now I live with three in one house. It's ridiculous.” you chuckle and Sherlock moved his hands away. The cold air around your cheeks makes you shiver and you put your blanket tighter around you.   
A sad smile drifted over his flawless face as he starts talking fast and in a gravelly tone:” I've always been a genius, since I'm little. I learned things faster and easier. And so did Mycroft, he even faster than me. He still teases me that he's more intelligent, faster simply better in everything. When I was about your age, I started believing it. I thought I was stupid, that my parents aren't proud of me and so on. I started cutting...” , with the last word Sherlock slowly but determined pulls up the sleeves of his shirt. He holds his arm into the light so that you could make out the light scars on his pale skin. They were nearly invisible, but yet still there. You sit there with your eyes widened and mouth open. Sherlock chuckles at your sight and restarts sharing his story, “ Eventually, I could stop hurting myself. I got confident. Sometimes I still want to harm myself, but I know it won't work, at least not in the long run. I know how hard it is not having someone to talk to about it. I don't want you to feel like I did”  
You can't help but hug the broken man in front of you. “I'm sorry!” you whisper into his dark curls.   
“Thanks, for being there for me” you went on as he let go of you. 

“You're welcome!” he says, “ and now, time for bed”. He ruffles your head and you lie down to your bed taking the blankets with you. “Yeah, dad” you tease and wait 'til he switches of the lamp.   
“Night” Sherlock whispered from the huge, comfortable chair opposite the bed, next to the window.  
Before you menage to answer you fall asleep to the sound of Sherlock breathing.


	12. Chapter 12

Warm and bright light kisses your eyelids awake softly. Without opening your mouth, you yawn and enjoy the winter sun that shines, through your curtains, on your face. Lying there, you feel the big blanket on top of you, most of them you have pushed away during the night, now the remaining follows shortly. Suddenly you remember last night and sit up, looking over at the chair where Sherlock was still asleep, mouth open and slightly snoring. You smile to yourself and get up from the cosy bed, pulling the blanket over Sherlock's shoulders.

You look around in the room, and it is then when it hits you that you really own an apartment. A tiny, old apartment with two rooms and a bathroom in 221 Baker Street. Another smile appears on your face and tugs up the side of your lip. “I'm home”, you whisper to no one in particular. As you stand there you feel a certain human need and hurry to the loo. Sherlock is still asleep as you exit the restroom, with fresh clothes and braid hair. You quickly rearrange your blankets and hold your breath as Sherlock stirs in his sleep. Glad that he doesn't wake up, you head up to 221B, where John is already munching at his cornflakes. “Morning”, he growls, barely looking up from his breakfast.   
“Morning”, you greet, closing the wooden door. “How long does Sherlock normally sleep?” 

John chokes at the in milk soaked cornflakes and coughs trying to get some much needed air into his lungs.  
“Jesus Christ, John!”, you chuckle, while hitting at his back, to get the doctor breathing again. John recovers fast, but his eyes are still blood shot and his veins stand out on his pale skin.   
“Sherlock fell asleep on the chair. Nothing else, John, get your shit together. Your boyfriend would never cheat on you”, you state with a wink, which shows was a huge mistake because John starts coughing again. 

The next few weeks were nothing special. Most of the time you spent at 221, helping Mrs. Hudson or doing chores. Sometimes you helped the guys on some cases (some people are really weird). You only met Mycroft once and told him a lot of uninteresting things, like the fact that Sherlock has been composing another piece or that John and Marry were now dating. You could really make a living out of the money from Mycroft. You called public services to tell them that you didn't live with Lazarus anymore, and Sherlock and John earn a little extra money for looking out for you. As soon as Lazarus found out he had called you and threw insults, like raindrops in a storm, at you. After the call you sat and the floor and as Sherlock and John came home they cheered you up, five minutes later and you would've cut yourself. They were always there every time you needed them. Like parents, protecting you from all the bad in the world. 

It was only a week until Christmas when everything went downwards again. 

On the 18th of December you stand at the window, wondering what all these people on the streets are up to. You try the deducing thing, that Sherlock tried so desperately to teach you, but you fail miserably. Sherlock used to hide his face behind his hands, every time you deduced something terribly wrong. Now you don't spend much time together. He's away all the time, solving cases, stunning people, the usual things he can do with his master mind. It makes you sad, but he's happy so how could you ever blame him?  
You are alone in the men's apartment, you love your place, even more after you made it look like it's actually yours, but there is something missing. It doesn't smell right. There's not a hint of John's after shave, there is no where the gross smell of fingers that were heated in the microwave. Nothing that make you feel completely at home. That's why you usually find yourself at 221B, the guys don't mind. They are actually quite happy, because with you, there's always something edible in the house. 

Sherlock's got a call from Lestrade earlier today, and is now solving a case, where only toes got left behind, each one in a different alley all over London. You returned your thoughts to the world outside of the window, with the light curtains framing it. On the horizon you saw a black cab slowing down and turning to a halt in front of the house. A little man with blond hair, messed up by the cold wind and full of snowflakes in them, hands cash to the bold driver before reaching over to the passenger seat and taking two brown bags, caring them to the main door. You quickly run down the stairs and open the door, so John can walk in with his hands full with grocery bags. You closed the door after him. You bend down to carry the canned tomato soup, that slipped through his hands.

“Ehm, what are you doing?” you ask carefully as he placed the bags safely on the kitchen counter.  
“Dinner. I'm making dinner for you, Sherlock.. and.. ,” He mumbled the last part, and turned bright red, looking like the image on the tomato soup can.   
You furrow your brow and demand:”Who?”  
“Marry. Mary Morstan.” John grumbled while stocking away the food.   
You grin from one ear to the other:”Wow, I'm impressed, John. Never thought you were the romantic type”  
“Need any help?” you add, as he just ignores you.   
“No...no I'll be fine,” John confirms, “just make sure Sherlock's here at 8 pm.. This time dressed properly!”

You smile at the memory, when John's sister was here for tea and cookies and Sherlock walked in with only his white bed sheet around his waist.   
“Will do” you shout, already half inside your apartment waiting til it's time to call Sherlock to get his pretty ass home. 

You make yourself comfy on the bed, building a nest with pillows and blankets you grab a book and start reading. You made it through one page, until you decide to look out the window and watch all the people living there life, without anxiety, disorders and suicidal thoughts. Fascinating how life can be when you don't hate yourself.  
At Exactly 8:07 pm Sherlock enters the “dinning room”(which was just the living room with the table from the kitchen shoved into the middle.  
Whilst couch, TV and other stuff is pulled next to the walls) completely dressed and fully shaven. He sits opposite of you, next to John who only has eyes for Mary. She sits right next to you, lost in John's eyes. You raise an eyebrow at Sherlock, who then coughs uncomfortably, which actually gets them out of there trance. You hide a low chuckle by turning it into a cough and watch amused as the Doctor stands up and crashes against the edge of the table. With red cheeks he reenters the room and hands everyone a plate with rice and vegetables. As Sherlock recounts his case, which was extremely disgusting, you peck at your food not being able to shove it into your mouth. Your stomach was asking you for food for the whole week. But your head forbid it every time, you've only eaten little things, like apples and grapes. Even with just do little food you felt like shit, fat, stupid and unworthy.

Those thoughts follow you throughout the whole dinner. Now and then Sherlock shoots you worried glances, but your mind tells you that it's just because you behave even stranger than usual. He would never be worried about someone like you. I mean look at you stupid piece of shit. You breath in deep, trying to shut down the voices. The detective is about to say something to you as John carries in the dessert. You watch the plate carefully, you try to hardest to at least take one bite. You even promise to throw it up later, but you can't bring yourself to pull the spoon full of panna cotta into your mouth. You stand up quickly, and nearly bash down the chair. You mumble a hushed “Sorry”, before you practically run down into your loo. Without a second thought you push your fingers into your mouth, and the gag reflex does the rest. 

After you threw up, you try to catch your breath. Hot tears stream down your face as you lean your forehead against the toilet. Suddenly you hear a light knock outside the wooden door.  
“Are you alright?” a familiar, low voice asks.  
“Go away, Sherlock,” you say, not being able to hide the sobs while talking. You bite your cheeks from the inside and curse at your disability.  
You hear the rustling of clothes and wonder if he really leaves, but than you hear him leaning against the door with a sigh.   
“Go to John and Mary. Leave me alone!” you yell as your voice breaks.  
“No, I'm staying!” he yells back through the thin door. 

Minutes pass by, your breathing gets slower, but the tears still flow down your cheeks and threaten to drown your bathroom. You slowly stand up, your legs are shaking, you grab for the razor you still hide behind the mirror and pull up your sleeve. Exposing your naked, scared skin. The bright light in the loo made the cuts look even worse. Without a second glance you put the blade on your skin. Press and then you drag it along your arm. Blood streams out immediately, and you breath in with a soft hiss. Sherlock hears it.   
“Abby?” he asks worriedly,”Open the bloody door, or I'll kick it in! Do you hear me? Abby?!” he screams.

You don't really care anymore you move your other hand towards the lock and open it up and Sherlock stumbles inside only to see you lying on the floor surrounded by blood, puke and salty tears. He gasps and hurries next to you, you hand him a bandage you had grabbed earlier from the cupboard without realizing it. With steady hands he puts it around your bleeding wrists. Carefully he takes off your bloody shirt. He hands you your pj's and you put them on word- and emotionless.  
You let him guide you into your bed and even tuck you in into the blankets. You don't protest as he slips into bed beside you. His heat his radiating from his body and warming you the whole night through.


	13. Chapter 13

You don't fall asleep that night. You feel that burning pain rushing up and down the length of your left arm. You try not to hiss every time your hand collides with the thick blankets, focusing on Sherlock's deep and steady breaths next to you in the bed. Silent tears run down your face, but you don't care enough to wipe them away. All you wan to do is die., You want to push the blade inside your pulse, want to make it stop moving, want to stop breathing. You hold your breath, but mother-nature ruins your plans. Ans you catch desperately for air to fill your shriveled lungs. You continue starring at the darkened ceiling and wish for death to come like a starving would wish for food. Your eyelids get heavy as you finally fall into a short dreamless sleep.

When you wake up, the sun isn't fully risen yet, but the spot next to you is empty again. As if the last night never happened, wouldn't there be the bloody shirt on the floor and the bandages around your arm. "Dammit", you whisper into the silent room, you let yourself fall back into the cusions, face forward. Confused you state that your pillows are wet, it is then when you realize that you are crying. Angry with yourself you wipe the tears out of your face but they just keep coming, rolling down, and making wet, salty traces on your cheeks. Now even your sleeves are soaked in salt water and you feel even worse than before. For a second you contemplate cutting yourself, feeling the relieve and the relaxation in your whole body, but with a forceful head shake, get that idea out of your mind. You bury your head deeper into the soaked pillow. Heavy sobs make their way out of your throat only to get muffled by the soft fabric, your head is pressed in. A silent knock's coming from the other side of the room, you look up quickly and an ocean of blue worry meets red rimmed brown.

"Hello", blue eyes whisper.

"Hi", you say, not trusting your voice enough to say more.

Sherlock shuffles over to you and climbs into the tear soaked bed, next to you.

"Hey", he says soothingly wiping your tears away, that won't stop streaming down your sore cheeks.

"Dammit", you groan in displeasure. He chuckles lightly while pulling your face close to his chest. His stomach is trembling with laughter.

"Shut up", you snort against his slightly too tight white shirt, he was wearing the evening before. "You haven't changed." you muffle against the shirt, that smells of a hint of smoke and paradise.

"Yes, I...uhm", he stutters, you raise your head and look at him," Never thought, I get to see you speechless."

He gives you that smile that forms in his eyes, makes them shine in a thousand different shades of green and blue, pulls at his lips and forms wrinkles on his face.

"I", he continues,"I stayed here, overnight".

"Thanks", you whisper crawling back in his embrace.

Suddenly a wild John appeared, his hair ruffled and messed up. He enters the main door with a tablet with tea and cookies on it.

"Breakfast", he shouts with a big smile upon his face.

"Get over here, John" you say to him, making room on the double bed, for John and the tablet. You and Sherlock sit, with your backs against the bed's head, the tea-tray lying in front of you and at the other end of the bed there's John mimicking your position of crossed legs.

You spend the morning in bed with John and Sherlock beside you, sipping tea, and occasionally nibbling on a chocolate cookie. Their presence distracts you from the things that happened last night. But the white bandage across your arm is a big reminder of how unstable you truly are. The evening comes and the three of you were now lying in the bed, you in the middle. Popcorn gets passed between John and Sherlock while you watch some Disney Movies on John's Laptop(who's password is really that easy as Sherlock said).

As the two man are save asleep you crawl out of the bed, trying to keep the noise at a minimum. You get yourself a paper from the stack on your nightstand, and a blue pen, which is probably John's. You scribble at the page and try not to look at the sleeping men. Still you catch a last glance. You walk over to John who's hands are hanging outside the bed and nearly touching the floor. You give him a kiss on the cheek and freeze as he starts moving. You hold your breath but he quickly falls back asleep. You hastily search for the clothes that have to be lying around here somewhere. As you found them you quickly put them on and go to Sherlock's side. He is lying with his face in the pillows and lightly snoring. A smile crosses your face when you touch his cheek and give him too, a kiss on the cheek. You pull the blankets higher up on both, put the letter on the nightstand and get outside 221A. You quickly exit the main door, and are out on the street. It's around midnight and not many people are on the streets at that time, especially in winter.

You don't have to think about where you are going, your feet are walking all on their own towards St. Bartholomew's Hospital.


	14. Chapter 14

The cold midnight air is cooling you down, your fingers feel numb, even in the pockets of your gray jacket. Your nose seems red and so do your ears, but you just keep walking. Nothing could stop you from getting to your destination. You curl your arms around your upper body, and feel the burning from the cuts and press your wrist even tighter to your ribcage, drowning in the bittersweet pain.

Somehow you manage to get into St. Barts, into the elevator and up to the roof without anyone noticing you. You slowly reach the edge of the rooftop, your head falls back and you look up at the stars. You haven't seen them in a while, they were always hidden away behind thick clouds. Now you watched them, searching for constellations you learned at school. A big smile spreads upon your face you lift your hands to either side and start laughing like a maniac. You remember the times when life was easy, when your mum was still alive, before she left you with that dickhead of a step-father. The times you had friends who you spent time with, a mother that loved you no matter what, and everything was simply rainbows and unicorns. Another bitter laugh escapes your lips when you think how everything turned upside down so easily, but that's just life, it will always change, it'll get better and then worse again. That's as sure as the sun rising in the morning, and the stars coming out at night.

But that doesn't matter anymore. You're done with it. You have been through so much bullshit, that the good things don't soften all the bad things that happened to you. You are unbelievably grateful for the time you could spent with John and Sherlock. You've been happy, with them. Now it's time to go.

"Goodbye", you whisper as you take the last step towards the edge of the building. The lights around you blurr, and the darkness takes to main part in your sight. You feel the icy wind dragging at your clothes. You close your eyes. The fall make's it impossible to breath, and you just let go. Every strength and will-power has left your body and you feel numb and heavy, as you fall down the rooftop. Behind your closed eyelids, pictures of Sherlock smiling and John laughing play on repeat. You smile before you hit the hard ground of the sidewalk. An enormous pain shoots from your had to your toes. You want to curl yourself into a ball but your to weak to even open your eyes. You can hear people screaming around you, and you feel a lot of fingers on your body until suddenly everything stops and you are no more.

The annoying sound of his ring tone wakes Sherlock up in the middle of the night. Eyes firmly shut and face pressed against the pillow he reaches for the phone in his pocket. He considers shutting it of, but decides against it. "What?",he mumbles sleepily.

"Sherlock, we- I'm sorry. We need your help." says the voice at the other end, trembling lightly.

Sherlock sits up from his bed. His forehead frowns, with one hand he grabs the phone tightly with the other he shakes John awake who's up immediately after he sees the look on Sherlock's face.

"What happened?", Sherlock asks with his teeth clenched hard.

"Ehm," stutters Lestrade,"there's a body. We...we need you to confirm their identity"

"No", escapes John's mouth as he realizes that Abby's not longer in the apartment.

"Who?" Sherlock asks his teeth still tight and his fists grabbing the blankets.

There's a long and painful pause, until Lestrade continues with that one word that neither of them want to hear. "Abby."

With that Sherlock throws the phone against the wall and smashes it beyond repair.

"No, no, no!" he whispers painfully.

"C'mon, Sherlock." John tries to calm him down, but it's not working.

Sherlock's blue eyes are drowning in tears and his face turned as pale as the blankets. Also John stops moving and tries to hold back the tears that keep rushing into his eyes. The sit in the bed for a while longer until they are both sure, not to start crying again. Sherlock is the first to stand up, but without the pep he usually has. He's about to get out the door as he catches sight of a with piece of paper on the nightstand. He nearly runs towards it and rips it open and reads it with John by his side:

Dear, John and Sherlock

thank you for looking after me for so long. I'm sorry that I'm such a failure, and I don't want to disappoint you even more. I decided to leave this place that only caused me pain and heartbreak. I'm sorry. None of this is your fault, promise. Thanks for caring for me and showing me how it feels to be loved again. I just can't keep doing that to me and you. I'm just done with fighting and trying...

You could've done nothing to change my decision.

You made my life a lot better, thank you for that, but I can't take it any longer. I have to leave. I'm sorry. I will remember every minute that I had the fortune to spend with you.

Take care of Mrs. Hudson and please don't ever change.

I love you.

-Abby

 

After reading the note, Sherlock's expression turns as hard as a stone. John gasps and desperately tries to hold back the tears, that are falling down his face and die in his colored button-down shirt.

"Oh my God." John whispers wiping the tears away with his soaked sleeves.

"There's no God, John. Don't be ridiculous." Sherlock points out, his eyes sending cold shivers towards everything that touches his glances. With that he's out the door and stopping the next cab.

John hurries after him, ignoring the questions he got from Mrs. Hudson, who's now staring at the leaving cab.

Red eyes are the only trace of tears left in John's face as he and Sherlock arrive at St. Bart's to see the body. Sherlock is still ice cold, as if he would just observe another case and not someone he cares for. He rushes past Lestrade and shoots a piercing glance towards Molly, who's standing next to the metal bed with the dead body, covered in a blue thin blanket, on it. As Sherlock stands next to the corpse he stops mid movements. His hands hover over Abby's body, not willing to touch her yet. John moves over to stand next to him, a reassuring hand put on Sherlock's shoulder. Their eyes meet and a small but thankful smile crosses Sherlock's face. The ice inside him slowly melting. With shaking, pale hands Sherlock moves to pull the blanket away, to make sure that it's Abby's body. He grabs the blue sheet, takes a deep breath and then reveals what was already obvious, what everyone wanted to be a mistake came out as a painful truth.

Her skin is pale, the eyes, that had the colour of dark wood, were now closed forever. It is then when it hits both men that they will never see her smile, never hear the laughs she rarely shared, never feel her heat or her breath on their skin. She's gone, and she will never return.

A silent tear falls down Sherlock's cheeks and John presses the other men's shoulder a little tighter.

"Yes, it's her. It's Abby." Sherlock says, his tone no longer freezing, but breaking at the mention of her name. Just as he's about to pull the sheet back in place, John grabs his arm and stops Sherlock's motion. "What?" he whispers confused.

"Look at that!" John exclaimed pushing the sheet back and pointing at the black writing, that is barely seen under Abby's right arm. "She's got a tattoo." John takes Abby's lifeless arm, shivering at that feeling, and lifts it up. The tattoo is against her upper ribcage, next to her breasts. The dark ink standing out on her skin, the words small and cursive.

"The way I see it, every life is a pile of good things and bad things. The good things don't always soften the bad things, but vice versa, the bad things don't necessarily spoil the good things or make them unimportant - The Doctor ", John says softly with a fond smile on his lips.

"Doctor...who?" Sherlock asks with confusion behind his blue eyes.

John can't hold himself back anymore, he cracks up laughing, and Molly and Lestrade don't need much time to join in the laughter. Sherlock just stands there looking at the strange tattoo and wondering why everyone laughs like they are stoned.

-The End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading. Sorry not sorry I killed Abby :)


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